


Bard of Esgaroth

by SpiteMeister



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bard totally wears slippers, Drabbles, Drowning, Family, Gen, Headcanon, Mornings, Scenes from the Movie, Tragedy, Weapons, Wedding Night, friend-shipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 07:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiteMeister/pseuds/SpiteMeister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Musings about Bard and his headspace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Typical Morning

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have the energy to write a full-on fic about Bard (even though I sooooo want to; I have a lot of other things going), so here instead is what I write to amuse myself. I'm starting off "G" for now, but I may go all the way up to "E". We'll see.
> 
> What are mornings like in the Bardlings' house?

It was still dark. The chill of the air and the sounds from the lake below told Bard that morning was upon them. He adjusted his neck on the pillow and stretched out his arms so that he could get up; his two youngest were still curled up behind him, so now he was cramped up against the damp, musty clapboards. The blankets were completely in possession of his children. He might as well get out of bed.

Carefully, he got to his knees and clambered over the offspring who had taken refuge in his bed from a particularly loud thunderstorm. He lit a single tallow candle which filled the tiny area with light. Behind a cloth partition in the area he called his “room” he put on his clothes from the day before. The rustling must have been more substantial than he realized, because Bain was awake when he came back around the partition.

“Go wake your sister.”

A positively mischievous glint shone in the boy's eye, and Bard clarified that his sister was to be woken nicely. Once Bain had gone, Bard tidied the sleeping space. It was more of a habit from army days than anything else. The family didn't have enough possessions to make much of a mess. Sigrid came back with Bain. The soot on her hands and knees told him that she had already been up, about to stoke the fire in the fireplace for the day.

“I'm going up river today,” Bard told them quietly, “I expect you to be good and stay out of trouble.” _They always were_. “Sigrid?”

“Yes Papa?”

“I can't go with Tilda for her fitting, so could you…?”

His daughter smiled wanly, adjusting her threadbare smock and transferring the soot to otherwise-clean cloth. He wished he could afford more than one new garment at a time for his children.

“When I come back I'll have some fish with me, so I'll need you and Bain to get the barrel ready for salting.”

Before leaving the room, he pulled the blankets up a little higher on Tilda. He probably shouldn't indulge his little girl's tendency to sleep late. Ah well.

He beckoned them to go with him around the screen which separated his sleeping space from the kitchen and dining table. Curtains had been pulled back from the other windows. Some of the rays of dawn were peeking in, but the light was supplemented by a number of candles. There was bread on the table next to the cutting board which had a block of cheese impaled by a knife. At Sigrid's favorite place setting was a half-finished sketch of the food; a trait she shared with her mother. He cut off a slice of the cheese and tore a chunk of bread away. The long-suffering sigh of his eldest told him that she found his actions as annoying as her mother had. With a smile, he gave those to her and walked away, opting instead to take the already-prepared basket of lunch.

“ _Papa_ ,” Sigrid whined.

“Food is for eating,” he teased. He knew this would not deter her from her passion for drawing. When Bain laughed at Sigrid, he added, “It's also not for stuffing into the trumpets of the town heralds.”

“Ha-ha,” his daughter taunted.

The two children tagged along behind him in the growing light of morning, all the way to where his barge was docked. They helped push him off – though he'd been doing this on his own long before they'd been born – and as an afterthought, he called back, “Don't forget to eat that breakfast!”

He could just make out Sigrid's exasperated huff.


	2. A Failed Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard's thoughts on failing to follow through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to write about the look of rejection on his face when he brings weapons for the dwarves and they're like "nope."

Every loud clang of iron falling into the pile felt like a hammer against his heart. He should have known; these were dwarves. Who cared if the weapons were serviceable? They wanted craftsmanship. Bard felt ashamed and self-conscious. He couldn't provide for dwarves. He could just barely provide for his children. What had he been thinking? In one single moment, he felt that the dwarves' estimation of Man – of which he was now chief representative – had plummeted.

As each make-shift weapon was rejected, he was rejected. He hadn't followed up on his promise. There was more than money at stake. He tried to justify himself. And here he had thought himself clever for not only getting them into Laketown, but into his heavily-surveilled home.

Bard had been judged, and he had been found wanting.

He felt a sick pleasure in telling them that they couldn't leave; even more so when he had the perfect reason. But the question remained: would they want their money returned?

As each weapon was thrown back onto the pile, he was confronted with how poor they were. How symbolic they were of not only his station, but of Laketown and the World of Man.

How could he now raise his estimation of himself?


	3. Impression of Tragedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I was born and bred on these waters, Master Dwarf; if I wanted to drown you, I would not do it here." -Bard the Bargeman, _The Desolation of Smaug_
> 
> What could he have possibly meant by that...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **BEFORE YOU READ:** There's a description here that's a little graphic.

Bard was only ten winters old when they pulled his uncle's body from the lake. Bloated, melted features the color of the sky on a clear day was all he recalled of the face of a much-loved man. More poignant were his father's tears and gasping sobs in the still morning air. The other men in the boat could only watch; the one who had reeled in the line was covering his mouth, only half-obscuring a look of shock.

A faint feel of blood rushing out of his face alerted Bard that he ought to lean out of the boat. All the contents of his stomach came up.

Later, people declared it a miracle that the man had been found before being lost to the River Running. For the safety of the town, a patrol was established for the southern end of the Long Lake; it had always been considered the best place to kill someone or dispose of a body.

The murderer was never found, and Bard's own father was able to prove he'd had no hand in it.

This was when the Black Arrow was given to the young family of the second son. Bard swore he would do everything he could to be worthy of inheriting it once he was older. He swore he would join the patrol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to the two guests who left kudos before. It really does keep me going when I know that someone out there likes my writing even a little.


	4. The Bride that was Never Queen

Oh, how she snored! Bard smiled, willing the frustration of sleeplessness away. The quilt had been pushed back from his body some time ago, and it was now in the steel grip of his bride. He accepted the fact that it was gone. She was beautiful. The moonlight shone on her face, filling every pore with silver glow. Her black hair was luminescent, shining like eddies on the lake. For so long her had loved her and not known that he already had her love. He had believed himself so beneath her (although now he knew how nice it truly was to be beneath her).

The remnants of the flower crown she wore for the wedding ceremony were scattered in the sheets, crushed, giving off a scent that added potency to hers. He felt ravenous desire stir within him. He wanted to taste every part of her over again.

Bard closed his eyes, hoping that he would sleep or that she would wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You see? I always come back to my work. I have some more coming up.


	5. Trink mit mir, Sing mit mir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tauriel and Bard are totally buddies in my headcanon. The chapter title is from a song in "Die Fledermaus."

He stoked the fire and closed the grate again. With that same hot poker he heated his mulled cider by dipping the hot metal into the liquid, resulting in a satisfying sizzle. Now that that was taken care of, he sat back in his armchair to contemplate this luxurious living condition in Dale. The King's private study had an enormous fireplace, a tall window which faced south (and was such that he could see Ravenhill), and shelves installed directly to the walls, reaching up so high that it would take three people standing on each others' shoulders to reach the top shelves. A desk and some armchairs had been placed in the room once Bard had taken up residence. From here, too, there were various secret passages to his children's rooms – as well as many which were as yet vacant – which he often used to tuck his children at night after the servants had left.

The goblet had just touched his lips when there was a rapping on the door. He sighed, putting the goblet on the table, and shuffled to the door in his slippers. On the other side was a familiar elf.

“Tauriel?”

She smiled and held up a bottle, swishing the contents. “A toast to simple times?” Bard held the door open for her and she swept into the room. Tauriel made herself right at home in an armchair, pouring out the wine into two goblets.

“I see you've started without me,” she remarked. “I wasn't expecting you,” he replied as he seated himself.

“Please tell me you are not here with more messages from your King.”

Her laugh was as warm as the crackling fire. “Seeing as the sun has long set, no.” She looked around the room. “Well, it's not a tavern, but it will do.”

Their goblets were raised in a toast to the end of the lengthy trade agreements.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments keep me going!


End file.
